


De-Conditioning

by DeaconBrews



Series: The Reign of Queen Charlotte (Dictator Charlie) [2]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Demons, Guards, Healing, Military, Past Brainwashing, Recovery, imp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29359476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeaconBrews/pseuds/DeaconBrews
Summary: Vignettes focused on Overwatch Commander 1789 (formerly Moxxie) and his gradual recovery from the "re-education" soldiers in Queen Charlotte's army are put through
Series: The Reign of Queen Charlotte (Dictator Charlie) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155545
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overwatch Commander 1789 has an evening to himself in his new quarters. He spends it contemplating that trio of strangers who seemed so excited to see him earlier that day. Who were they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place just after Chapter 3 of the main work

>Overwatch Commander 1789 stared at his notebook  
>He shook his head  
>Not Overwatch Commander 1789  
>Not anymore  
>That was just his rank and number  
>He had a name  
>And he'd been ordered to remember it, and start responding to it  
>By The Prince no less  
>He had to get it right, the sooner the better  
>Or he would surely face severe consequences

>He'd failed to respond earlier today and his charge had clearly been displeased  
>He'd been spared punishment that time, but such mercies were sure to run dry soon

>He turned to a fresh sheet and began to spell  
>M  
>O  
>X  
>...X?  
>Was his name spelled with one X or two?  
>The imp tapped the point of his pen against the page  
>He was certain this task shouldn't be as hard as it was  
>He bit down on his tongue in concentration  
>Then he looked over one shoulder, then the other  
>He was definitely alone in his quarters  
>No one would see if he made a mistake  
-  
>M-O-X-I-E  
>...no  
>No, that just didn't look right to his eye  
>He didn't know why exactly, it just didn't...FEEL right  
>His name had two X's  
>He was sure  
>He drew a pair of perfectly parallel lines through his error and moved down to the next line  
>M-O-X-X-I-E  
>There  
>That was it

>He spelled it out again  
>And again  
>And again  
>And again  
>Trying different strokes of the pen  
>Trying to remember how it felt to spell his own name and not his designation  
>Trying to remember what it was supposed to look like on the page

>Moxxie  
>MOXXIE  
>His name was Moxxie  
>He had to remember that  
>He HAD to  
-  
>He stared at the letters on the page, trying to imprint them on his mind  
>He mouthed the old instructions from his conditioning program to himself

>"Your designation is Overwatch Commander 1789"

>"When you hear it spoken, you will snap to attention and follow the orders of the one who spoke it"

>"You are to execute them without fail, or face the consequences"

>He took a deep breath to calm himself  
>He whispered his new orders

>"You were ordered to remember your name"

>"Your name is Moxxie"

>"When your hear that name, you WILL snap to attention and follow the orders of the one who spoke it"

>"You will execute them without fail"

>"You will remember your name"

>...

>...Those three at Stolas' manor had remembered his name without any trouble  
>Why?  
>He knew he'd had a life before Overwatch  
>Had he been something to them back then?  
>Why had they hugged him?  
>Why had they gushed about how worried they'd been?  
>Why had they all seemed so angry at The Prince?  
>It made his head hurt  
>Trying to attach their faces, their voices, their scents to any memory  
>To anything at all  
>They were strangers to him  
-  
>A yawn crept up from with him as he dared to write his name with just enough style that his lettering crept outside of the lines  
>He checked the clock  
>He'd spent too much time in thought  
>It was getting late  
>Resumption of his duties needed to overlap with the night guards by at least one hour  
>He pushed himself away from his desk and stretched, taking an extra moment to work the kinks out of his tail  
>He tossed himself into bed  
>Much bigger than he was used to  
>Intended for demons much larger than a mere imp  
>It was softer as well  
>The bedclothes were finer too. Silk, down, ivory cloth...  
>It was an upgrade, technically  
>A perk of having been given such an illustrious assignment as guarding The Queen's newly returned brother

>He wasn't sure if he really liked it

>This was too different from the shielding enclosure of his old bunk  
>He felt...exposed here, on this vast plain of a mattress, with the ceiling so high above him  
>Maybe a bit lonely too  
>There was just so much space here compared to the little metal cubby he had grown accustomed to sleeping in  
>All for him  
>Only him  
>Something was missing  
>For some strange reason, he found himself thinking back to the woman who had first called him by his name, bursting from the crowd of demons in Stolas' courtyard  
>She'd called herself 'Millie'  
>Over and over  
>As if she'd expected it to mean something to him  
>The others, the Hellhound and the older imp  
>'Loona' and 'Blitz'  
>Had done so too  
>But not nearly so insistently, so desperately, as Millie did  
>And she just wouldn't stop talking nonsense  
>Bringing up meaningless subjects  
>Asking about memories he didn't have  
>Just talking nonsense

>Moxxie rolled over beneath his sheets  
>His eyes landed on his pole-arm, laying close by in case it was needed unexpectedly  
>Something about the sight of it and the mind's eye image of Millie from earlier set his mind tittering  
>The spear, its mere presence, suddenly didn't sit right with him  
>He reached over to flick the lights back on, pushed the sheets off of him, and returned to his desk  
>He retrieved his notebook and found an empty page  
>Without really understanding why, he began to sketch

>Long eyelashes  
>Beauty mark on one cheek  
>A white patch on the elbow amidst the red  
>A black heart on one shoulder  
>A tiny gap in the smile  
>Razor thin stripes right...here, aaaand...right there, on her horns  
>There she was  
>Millie  
>As he'd seen her that afternoon  
>But not quite  
>What was missing?  
>Her...  
>...her...hair  
>That was it  
>Her hair wasn't the perfectly uniform shade of dark gray he'd scrawled  
>Right next to her horns, there should have been a little patch of white

>He looked around at his drawing implements  
>He'd done the whole thing in ink  
>He couldn't erase anything  
>Even if he could, the thought of undoing any part of this rendering of the impette was strangely distasteful to him  
>He pulled back the drawer and looked through what had been supplied to him  
>His eyes fell upon a bottle of liquid white  
>That would do

>He shook the bottle, took the tiny brush, and began to add to the sketch in small, delicate movements  
>It took a good while, but he managed to get it right  
>Tiny patches of white, right at the base of her horns  
>Round and tufted, like clouds  
>That was it  
>That was what she'd looked like  
-  
>Satisfied with the product his irrational creative urge had wrought, he leaned back in his chair  
>He began to wonder why he'd spent however long he'd spent on this pointless effort, when he had so much to do come the morning, and he needed all the rest he could get  
>He fidgeted in his seat, shifting this way and that, trying to make himself comfortable enough to think  
>His spear caught his eye again as he turned in place  
>He took a long look at it  
>His forefinger itched  
>He curled it up, drawing it tight against an imagined curve of metal  
>Firearms  
>That was it  
>He preferred firearms  
>He was supposed to be a sharpshooter, not a pikeman  
>He was no stranger to melee combat, but he'd always preferred firearms  
>He liked to leave the handling of thin, sharp edges and hard, heavy cudgels to those who had true expertise  
>He was certain he'd fought alongside someone who'd far surpassed him in close combat even on the best of days, but he couldn't seem to recall their designation

>Moxxie looked back down at his sketch  
>After contemplating it for a while, he carefully peeled the page out from the rest of the notebook  
>He took it with him back to bed and tucked it underneath his pillow, taking comfort in its presence even as the more practical realities of his next shift returned to his mind  
>His charge was a member of royalty  
>Second only to Queen Charlotte herself  
>Royalty might grant boons if they were sufficiently pleased with one's service  
>Perhaps, if he could follow his new orders properly, The Prince might see fit to grant him one  
>If he could learn to respond properly to his name, perhaps he could petition them for permission to carry a firearm rather than a spear  
>And maybe  
>If he was stalwart and dutiful  
>If he proved worthy of the privilege  
>They might again send him to speak to that trio of demons who'd been so excited to see him

>Moxxie slid across his oversized bed to reach the switch and returned his room to darkness  
>The new day would be here before long  
>He needed to be well-rested


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Octavia has a guest: The Prince, Queen Charlotte's brother. The new right hand of the regime. The demon to whom her brainwashed husband is bound as a servant. Millie is less than pleased to see him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This installment takes place prior to Ch. 4 of the main story

>Millie leapt forward and thrust her weapon toward her opponent's center of mass  
>They slipped past the point, missing it by scant fractions of an inch, and issued a counter attack from an unexpected angle  
>She ducked to escape it, then blocked the followup, and the followup to the followup  
>The Prince was quite a tenacious fighter, ad-hoc methods notwithstanding

>Being an imp, she had a fundamental knack for brawling, but, being the professional she was, she had studied a few formal fighting styles  
>She wasn't rigid in her application of them, mixing and matching to her taste  
>After all she was an imp first, and a professional second  
>The Prince however, was a different sort of chaotic  
>He had no style, came from no training that she could recognize  
>The way he fought was all his own, devised organically in response to whatever threats he'd been facing wherever he'd been for so many years  
>Judging from the unnecessary feints and unusually defensive way he positioned himself, they'd always been numerous and quite flexible  
>He seemed to always be prepared for counterattacks to come from more angles than she could possibly deliver them from

>Part of her was impressed

>Most of her still hated him

>Oh, how she HATED the high-born son of a bitch who led her hollowed-out shell of a husband around as a meatshield  
>Oh how she wished this was a real fight, with real weapons, and not merely a sparring match  
>She'd crack his skull open like an overripe melon for keeping Moxxie from her, and if that meant she got tossed in with the next batch of sinners to be liquidated, so be it  
>She was so angry  
>She'd been angry ever since she'd first seen the pair of them the other day  
>It had almost been better not knowing what had happened to Moxxie after they had been separated during the chaos of the "reorganization" of their neighborhood  
-  
>That at least left her able to fantasize that he might still be okay, off someplace safe, perhaps living under some other noble's roof  
>Whenever the dread that he might have been erased wasn't consuming her

>But seeing him in an Overwatch uniform...  
>...At the beck and call of none other than The Butcher Queen's very own brother  
>Staring right through her and Loona and Blitzo as if they were strangers  
>Barely able to string together a sentence unless it had something to do with his duties

>Even that little scrap of hope was snatched away in an instant  
>All that was left was anger and resentment  
>And despair  
>It seemed that the only time she didn't have her teeth gritted in rage lately was when she was fighting down sobs

>Unfortunately for her sparring partner, she was in the former mood at the moment, not the latter  
>And worse yet, Princess Octavia had conspicuously neglected to tell her to hold back when she'd suggested this little 'demonstration'  
>She certainly hadn't held herself back earlier when she'd 'demonstrated' her skills with sorcery against him  
>Therefore, Millie saw no reason to restrain herself either  
>She was going to make this a difficult fight  
>If nothing else maybe she could ruin this loathsome fuck's afternoon with an """accidental""" minor injury

>She threw her full weight, modest though it was, behind her next blow  
>She aimed for his legs, using the difference in height to her advantage  
>Something of a gamble, but it felt good to really channel her anger into something  
>It didn't last long  
>The Prince didn't block  
>He didn't dodge  
>He hopped

>HOPPED

>Like a child skipping rope

>Over her blow

>He brought his own weapon down in a clumsy overhand swat  
>She managed to miss it, but in doing so threw herself off balance  
>His next strike was even clumsier, raking the tip of the weapon across the floor  
>But it managed to find its target, jabbing into her side  
>Not a spectacular victory, but a palpable hit nonetheless  
>This round was his  
-  
>Octavia clapped her hands together to confirm as much, and The Prince stepped back from her, panting  
>Millie bowed shortly after heaving herself back onto her hooves in recognition of her loss  
>The Prince bowed back, looking at least as apathetic about the gesture as she was, then helped himself to a cool drink from the table beside Octavia's seat  
>He sighed as he pulled the glass from his lips, and looked to Octavia, wiping sweat from his brow

>"Well, I'm bushed. Lunch?"

>Her master smiled and nodded  
>Damn it, she wasn't through with him yet!  
>She ran a talon through her feathers as she looked back from him to where she still stood

>"Millie, be a dear and run to the kitchen for us? Bring back whatever is fresh."

>Millie forced herself not to scrunch her face up in confusion  
>Technically, as the owl demon's personal attendant, she was obliged to take care of any task she might throw her way  
>Practically though, she usually remained strictly focused on her duties as a bodyguard, there were plenty of other servants to fetch meals and fold linen  
>Confused, but still dutiful, she marched off toward the door that led deeper into the manor from the sporting hall

>"Moxxie! You still out there?"

>Millie halted mid-stride and whirled around to face the doorway on the opposite side of the room  
-  
>"Yes Sir"

>She hadn't even realized that The Prince had brought him along  
>Had he really been out there this whole time?!

>Her husband, what was left of him, walked into the room, accompanied by the rustle of his Overwatch armor  
>Stone-faced, though he spared her a lingering glance as he looked to The Prince, who in turn gestured back at her

>"Why don't you go give Millie a hand?"  
>"We'll be right here"  
>"Get something for yourselves too"

>Moxxie's tail twitched, ever so slightly  
>It was doubtful that anyone except her even noticed

>"Yes sir"

>He pivoted toward her and strutted to her side, head straight forward, but with his eyes locked on her  
>His eyes...  
>Beautiful  
>In spite of everything else, those golden gems of his were still wonderful to look into

>"Lead the way, Ma'am"  
-  
>She did so, dropping a step behind him in pace every now and then  
>She looked him over  
>He was still a rock, covered in dull steel plates  
>But he seemed just a bit more interested in her than he had been the last time she'd seen him  
>At the very least, he seemed more alert and present, rather than coming off as utterly befuddled as to why he even near her, much less talking to her  
>Alas, conversation remained something of a hurdle

>How was he?

>"Very well, thank you"

>Of course he was

>Anything interesting happen lately?

>"All is in order"

>Of course it was

>Did he want anything in particular to eat?

>"A cup of soup would suit me just fine, Honey. Maybe with some of those crackers you make?"

>Of cou-

>Wait what?  
>What did he say?  
-  
>The drone who used to be her husband when he wasn't providing covering fire for her stumbled to a halt just shy of the grand entryway into the kitchens  
>His brow furrowed

>"What...did I...?"

>He stepped back from her, toward the wall  
>His tail, straight and very low-lying this whole time, suddenly curled around his legs defensively  
>He cast his eyes down and scratched at a spot just to the side of one of his horns

>"What..."

>He wasn't sure what he'd just done

>"I..."

>But he was afraid he was going to be punished for doing it

>"...I"

>She put an arm around him and placed a hand on his head  
>It was a familiar embrace, but made less so by the unpleasant jab of his heavy armor's plates against her  
>She put her cheek to his and ran her hand over his head, down the back of his neck

>"There, there..."

>He calmed down quickly  
>The tension melted right out of him and he stood straight once more  
>As straight and calm as he had been when she'd first reunited with him  
>She wasn't sure if it was from her comforting him, or if it was just his conditioning reasserting itself  
>For now, she'd just take comfort in telling herself it was the former

>"Shall I retrieve the meal or will you?"

>Right back to business as usual  
>Naturally  
>She'd get it

>"Very well, I will wait here"  
-  
>She sighed as she withdrew from him and walked into the bustling kitchen  
>She rapped her knuckles on the countertop to get the head cook's attention and told them to rustle up something for the nobles to eat  
>And to take their time  
>Cut no corners  
>Really dress it up

>Then she darted back into the hall, back to Moxxie  
>She knew he wouldn't go anywhere without orders to do so  
>But it still made her anxious to leave him alone out there for too long  
>She just couldn't get the fear of him slipping away from her again out of her head

>Her fears seemed justified for a brief moment when she returned to the halls and he wasn't where he'd been  
>It took a moment to find him  
>A brief moment that felt much longer due to the panic that rose up to grip her heart, in spite of constantly reminding herself that he couldn't get very far  
>But there he was  
>Staring at one of the innumerable photos that Stolas had lining every wall of his manor  
>It was a rather small one  
>Innocuous at best  
>It wasn't until she came close enough to look over his shoulder that she realized why he was even interested in it  
-  
>It was a picture of a hunter  
>She really wasn't sure who exactly  
>Some relation of her master's father, or perhaps just a random acquaintance  
>They were posed next to their freshly bagged quarry  
>With their rifle in hand  
>An old rifle  
>Or perhaps a brand new rifle, constructed in the old style, designed especially to appeal to gun geeks  
>Like her husband had been

>She recognized the curvature of the Such-And-Such-style stock  
>The odd shape of the Whoeverthefuck Mechanism  
>The filigree characteristic of the Something-Or-Other period in weapon design  
>She could remember Moxxie almost boring her into a coma with his recitations of books and documentaries detailing how the style of weapon had come to be, what the slight changes had improved upon, which famed marksmen had favored it

>Now, he was staring at the photo with a sort of recognition  
>He still wasn't entirely there  
>But she could see a flicker of the man she'd married lurking in the corner of his eyes as he raised his clawed hand to rest them against the glass

>"Moxxie?"

>He turned his head readily this time  
>She didn't have to repeat herself, or to remember what garbled combination of numbers belonged to him  
>He looked right at her  
>And the corners of his mouth seemed to be just a bit higher than they had been before

>"Yes?"

>She bit her bottom lip  
>She wasn't actually sure what to say to him now that she had his attention

>"Do you...like that picture?"

>He nodded

>"Yes"

>"What about it?

>He tilted his head, ever so slightly, angling his horns perpendicular to where he was looking  
>His expression didn't change much

>"The rifleman...looks like he's...familiar..."  
>"With his weapon I mean"  
>"He's holding it so the weight isn't an issue"  
>"But also in a place that he won't leave fingerprints on the metal"

>Millie nodded, heart in her throat

>"Are you much of a marksman yourself?"

>That seemed to give him pause

>"...yes."  
>"Yes, I think so."  
-  
>"Why do you carry around a spear then?"

>"Standard-issue equipment"

>As if that answered anything

>The shout of one of the cooks booming out from within the kitchen curtailed any further prodding  
>The both of them walked side by side to meet them at the threshold and accepted the platters of food  
>Silver platters with decorative domes concealing whatever finery was underneath for Octavia and her guest  
>Kitchen-scrap-stew on open display in ceramic dishes for the servants

>Moxxie took the initiative and began to push the plate-laden cart back down the hall  
>Millie followed, alert for any activity from him, but they made it back to the fencing grounds far too soon for her to find it  
>They handed off the royal's platters with all necessary reverence  
>The royals received them with little fanfair as they settled down around a low table in the corner of the room  
>Then they waved at them to join them at the table

>...technically, servants weren't really supposed to dine with their masters, no matter how casual a meal it might be  
>But technically, that impatient waving of the hand/talon did also constitute an order  
>Millie made herself comfortable at Octavia's side  
>She was generous enough for a posh bitch that she'd allowed her servant to get somewhat accustomed to sharing a table with highborns

>Moxxie on the other hand was as stiff as he was in any other task  
>The Prince didn't seem to mind  
>He placed a hand on her husband's shoulder after he passed the domed platter over

>"Thank you, Moxxie"

>"Of course, Sir"  
-  
>The Prince then pat at the seat next to him  
>Moxxie glanced her way, for just a brief moment, a hint of confusion in his eyes  
>He may have been expecting her to lead him off to wherever it was that the servants would take their meal out of the royals' sight  
>Or rather, perhaps, hoping that they both might be sent away  
>With all of them in their places and the domes from the plates set aside, they began to eat

>Millie glanced at what the greater demons had been given  
>Expensive ingredients, prepared and arranged with great care, and in a multitude of ways  
>She figured she probably ought to resent the fact that she had only one dish before her, but she couldn't be bothered to  
>Simple as it was, the dark, dense broth in her bowl was far better than the meager rations she and the rest of IMP had been subsisting on before they'd made their way to the safety of Stolas' manor  
>She took a spoonful and then shifted her gaze over to Overwatch Commander Whateverthenumberwas

>Moxxie pushed his spoon away from him to scoop his food, rather than toward him  
>She remembered thinking that was weird and teasing him about it every now and then, and him always smirking at her as he did it even more deliberately  
>One of those little idiosyncrasies she'd never quite been able to pin down  
>That was just the way he'd always done it  
>Seeing him do it made her...  
>Something  
>Not quite happy  
>Wistful maybe  
-  
>As they continued to eat in relative silence Millie couldn't help but feel as though there were eyes on her  
>But they weren't Moxxie's  
>In fact they were probably on him too  
>Not that he noticed, his attention remained on his dish  
>Yet whenever she looked up at Octavia or The Prince, they were looking quite firmly elsewhere  
>She had almost begun to wonder if something was up when The Prince began inching his over-dressed platter of hors d'oeuvres across the table

>"Help me finish these, Mox?"

>Millie abruptly stopped what she was doing  
>She looked the master and his servant over  
>The Prince looked serious  
>Not even serious  
>Indifferent  
>He wasn't playing some kind of trick  
>He really was trying to share with a 'lowly little imp'

>Moxxie, surprisingly, didn't hesitate  
>He reached over immediately and delicately plucked a crisp-edged, lavishly garnished morsel  
>Forefinger and thumb, with his pinky held out  
>Not something he'd always done, but a little habit he'd adopted after he'd torn through an old-timey cookbook once upon a weekend when he had too much time to spare  
>He slid his own plate over as he bit into the high priced treat  
>The Prince dipped his own spoon into the slop the two imps had been served without a second thought  
>He smiled lightly and shrugged as he tasted it

>"Not half-bad"

>She heard metal against glass and realized that Octavia had pushed her own plate of fineries over toward her  
>The avian demon smiled at her  
>Something she did often in private, but never in the sight of anyone in the hierarchy who might get hot under the collar over someone deviating too far from the "standard procedures"  
\---  
>No one seemed interested in remarking upon the upset, and so they all returned to their shared meal without comment  
>The soup ran out first, with twice as many people going after it as had originally been planned  
>Then went the richly-stuffed croquettes, the salad, and the rest  
>The plates emptied, The Prince rose and began tugging away his fencing gear

>"Many thanks for the training and the hospitality, Via, but I think it's about time we got going."

>He looked to Moxxie as he continued to strip away his padded armor

>"Have them bring the car around, will you?"

>Moxxie nodded and made his exit  
>Millie bit her tongue  
>She wanted to say something  
>Anything  
>To give her just a little more time with the Overwatch demon  
>But she wasn't able to find an excuse quick enough  
>Though the two nobles had indeed shared their table with their servants, it would still be rather out-of-turn for her to simply shout at him to wait  
>She therefore kept her mouth shut and busied herself with bringing the remains of their lunch out into the hall, where a chambermaid could find them and take them away

>Octavia left her to it, following along beside The Prince as he walked off toward the changing screen where he'd left the clothes he'd arrived in  
>She began to speak idly with him as they walked, arm-in-arm  
>It was a quiet conversation, and as they grew further and further away Millie could hear less and less  
>But she almost thought she heard them mention Moxxie at some point  
>What could they be discussing?  
>The quality of his service?  
>Her stomach turned  
>She hoped it was something positive, and that they weren't considering a replacement  
>As sick a thought as it was, she actually wanted her husband to remain in The Prince's employ  
>As long as he was with him, he'd at least be out of harm's way to some extent  
>And more importantly, he might end up being brought to visit her again  
-  
>She finished with her task as quickly as she could and slipped back into the room, positioning herself in a suitable position just beside the doorway  
>Octavia remained on one side of the changing screen, and she could see a bit of activity from the far side as her guest redressed  
>She managed to catch a bit more of their conversation, but it was quite mundane  
>Nothing that one might glean anything useful from  
>Just the aimless banter of those better-off than her

>Millie frowned to herself as The Prince emerged from behind the screen  
>She couldn't find anything to comment on either way when he was in his fencing gear  
>But she could say for certain she didn't like the look of him now  
>He resembled his sister far too much  
>The coat, the boots, the gloves, the color scheme...  
>...the insignia...  
>It all just spelled misery to her  
>He was frightening to look upon

>"Shall we go?"

>Octavia seemed unbothered by his return to the dress of a dictator, holding her arm out with calm indifference  
>They strolled past her without a second glance  
>She followed at a respectful distance  
>With them leaving, she had no further reason to remain in the room  
-  
>She remained alert for any further talk on the nobles' part, but none was forthcoming  
>Before long the lot of them were out in the gardens, standing at the turnabout where The Prince's limousine waited for them  
>The swaths of her fellow demons who had escaped the rigors of Queen Charlotte's reign by quickly pledging themselves to some other, any other, highborn demon, looked her way and nodded  
>Moxxie was there as well, his drab attire easily picked out from the sea of more Hellish designs  
>She tried to edge herself towards him, as surreptitiously as possible, hoping for just a bit more time with him before he was dragged back to whatever grim duties he had to attend to  
>She was stopped before she could even begin as The Prince spoke  
>He ran a hand over his golden-haired head

>"Oh wait, my hat"

>Octavia smirked

>"I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to realize you'd forgotten it..."

>She turned to face her

>"Could you please fetch it for him, Millie?"

>The impette just barely managed to keep from cursing under her breath  
>She curtsied as gracefully as she could manage in her annoyed state and traipsed back into the manor  
-  
>The second-in-line dictator's cap was hanging on a hook beside the changing screen  
>In the open  
>Plainly visible  
>How in the nine circles had he managed to forget it?

>She snatched it up with an irritated huff  
>She stomped back out of the room  
>She all but barrelled into The Prince, waiting for her in the hall, alone  
>He looked down at her, one eyebrow cocked  
>She looked up at him, defiant at first, before she remembered to quickly smear a mask of reverence across her face  
>Slightly startled, she briefly forgot what she'd been doing before he began talking to her again

>"I'll take that"

>He held out his hand  
>Of course, he wanted his cap back  
>She held it up to him, and he settled it back atop his head  
>Ugh  
>Why had she even been sent back inside to retrieve it if he was just going to come back and get it himself?

>The Prince cleared his throat with a grunt  
>He fixed her with a curious gaze  
>With something else mixed in, though she wasn't sure what  
>After another moments contemplation and fussing with his coat, he spoke

>"Is he still in there?"  
-  
>Millie looked at The Prince in confusion

>"What?"

>The Prince nodded lightly off in the direction of the main entrance, where his bodyguard, her brainwashed husband, was still most assuredly waiting patiently  
>Ready to wait, standing at attention, until he collapsed if need be

>"The imp you and your friends were looking for when you stopped us in the garden the other day."  
>"Whoever he was before he was OC-1789"  
>"Moxxie"  
>"Is there..."

>The Prince paused and glanced aside, just for a moment  
>Afraid of the answer his question might get

>"...Is there anything left of him?"

>Millie blinked in shock  
>Was he...worried?  
>About Moxxie?  
>The Prince  
>The Scarlet Queen's wretched brother  
>The demon that her husband was shackled to as a dual-purpose butler and bullet sponge  
>He was WORRIED about her dear Moxxie?

>No

>No, he couldn't be  
>This was some sort of trick  
>This had to be a trick  
>All of it  
>Everything that had happened  
>Especially that shared meal  
>It was all a trick  
>Some ploy by The Crown to weed out the flaws in whatever it was they did to you when you got conscripted into Overwatch  
>She wouldn't fall for it

>"No, eh?"

>The Prince guessed for himself from her silence before she even had to concoct a lie to placate him  
>He sighed  
>He cast another long glance toward where Moxxie had gone

>"That figures"

>He sounded disappointed  
>Downright bitter  
-  
>He checked his collar again  
>More out of a need for something to do with his hands than any concern that it wasn't as crisp and well-arranged as could be  
>Then he faced himself toward the exit

>"Thanks anyway"

>In spite of the churning mix of confusing thoughts and emotions in her, Millie found herself opening her mouth to speak

>"He's still there"

>She didn't know why she felt compelled to blurt that out  
>A second ago she'd been resolute in not sharing anything with this demon  
>The Prince turned back to her  
>She saw recognition in his eyes  
>But he double-checked, just to make sure

>"Come again?"

>"He's still in there"  
>"Moxxie isn't gone just yet"  
>"I don't know how much of him is left, but there's something"

>The Prince suddenly knelt down beside her  
>He suddenly looked far more serious than he had all afternoon, even more so than when they'd sparred  
>He leaned in, a conspiratorial look in his eye  
>He whispered

>"Tell me..."

>He pushed his cap back so that it no longer shaded his eyes  
>They were wide and hopeful  
>He almost looked vulnerable

>"...do you think we could...get him back?"

>She wasn't sure what to say  
>She really didn't know if the little scraps of personality she'd seen today could be kindled back into a whole demon  
>But she knew what she wanted to believe  
-  
>"Give him a gun"

>She instructed the highborn jackass with an authority that far exceeded her rank

>"Any gun. Doesn't matter what sort."  
>"He can handle any of them"  
>"Just take that spear away from him"  
>"I"  
>"AM"  
>"THE ONE"  
>"Who holds the spears around here, and I'm pretty sure he knows that"

>She stamped her hoof in time with her declarations to emphasize the point  
>The Prince nodded at everything she said, wide-eyed, seemingly at a total loss for words

>"And more than that..."

>She took a deep breath

>"Let him listen to some music"  
>"Especially anything with strings"  
>"He was a string player"  
>"I know for sure he'd like that"

>He smiled sadly at her

>"He was a musician?"

>She nodded

>"Strikes me as ironic for some reason"  
>"They probably would have gotten along really well, in a much friendlier way, once upon a time"

>They...?

>The Prince was back on topic before she could pursue that line of inquiry any further

>"Millie"  
>"I get the sense that you don't like me"  
>"And I really can't blame you"

>Try as she might, she could find no suitably diplomatic response in her  
>He was right on the money

>"But I have something in mind..."  
-  
>He rested a hand on her shoulder

>"It might be a pointless endeavor"

>He grimaced

>"Given my track record, that's practically a guarantee"  
>"But I'd like to try for it all the same"

>He met her gaze and tightened his grip on her  
>He wasn't demanding  
>He wasn't even insistent  
>He was pleading  
>Begging her for help  
>He seemed...vulnerable

>The tyrant of Hell's brother

>The Scarlet Queen's proxy

>Was vulnerable

>He was asking her for something  
>Not ordering her  
>Asking

>"I'd appreciate your help, if you could lend it"  
-  
>Millie found herself smiling, genuinely, for the first time in a while  
>She was pretty sure she knew what he was up to

>"I think I'll make a habit of coming to visit Via"  
>"Once a week maybe"  
>"I've been neglecting my studies for too long"

>He stood back up and began to stroll back to the door  
>She followed along

>"And if my bodyguard happens to spend some time, unattended, with hers, while I'm at it, well, who would even notice?"

>No one, she was certain  
>No one at all  
>She felt herself continuing to smile as they walked  
>She was going to get to see Moxxie!  
>Every week!  
>And...  
>...And someone else besides her seemed interested in helping him

>"Keep me updated on his progress, okay?"

>She nodded at him as they stepped through the entryway and back into the gardens  
>Moxxie and Octavia were right where they'd left them  
>She stepped to her master's side  
>But she made sure to let her tail brush up against Moxxie as he turned to follow The Prince to the car  
>He stopped mid-stride, for a split second  
>He almost looked back toward her  
>Almost  
>They both waved as they climbed into their ride back to Pandemonium  
>The engine roared to life, and soon they were gone

>Millie heard Octavia sigh wistfully as she watched the long, low vehicle drive off, and looked up to her  
>She had been somewhat stoic ever since they'd met, back when she'd first volunteered her services to secure a place within the relative safety of the manor  
>This was the most visibly happy she'd ever seen her  
>Behind the scars and the missing feathers, her mood seemed to have been truly brightened by the day's events

>She allowed herself to linger a bit longer, before more prosaic matters returned to mind, and she moved to attend to them

>Perhaps The Prince wasn't quite the villain he appeared to be


End file.
